by Sandra Owens
Whoever the man she’d been with; he’d done a number on her. Jamie would like to have a few minutes alone with him, see how he liked being hurt. What made a man want to abuse a woman, a person without the physical strength to fight back?
Did he even want to know the details? She’d fooled them all though, with her happy-go-lucky disguise. His initial impression of her couldn’t have been more wrong, and it shamed him.
And then he’d gone and given Miss Sugar Darling her first orgasm ever, promising to teach her to want him. Either he was about to embark on a fascinating journey, or he was the biggest fool in the world.
Slipping out of the bed, he pulled the covers over her. She sighed and rolled onto her stomach, and he was caught for a moment by the way her lips parted on another soft sigh. He’d tasted that mouth and found it to be as sweet as her name.
He collected his clothes, turned out the lamp, and opened the bedroom door. Her cat shot up from where he’d curled himself on the other side and took a flying leap onto the bed. Junior plastered himself on her back and because of the light provided by all the night-lights, Jamie could see the creature glaring at him.
“I don’t like you either,” he murmured, then left.
Once he’d made sure all her windows and doors were locked, he tossed his shirt, briefs, and shoes onto the passenger seat of his car. Driving home, he analyzed the events of the night.
The one thing he kept coming back to was the way she’d turned green at the sight of him. What kind of cruelty did it take to cause such a reaction? What kind of hurting had she been put through that she could only sleep if every outlet in her room had a night-light plugged into it?
Even so, she’d been responsive to him, more receptive than any woman he’d been with since the accident. Although he would be wise to end whatever it was growing between them, he knew he wouldn’t. If nothing else, maybe for the time they were together, he could help her put her fears to rest.
Once home, he tossed his keys into the bowl on his kitchen counter and headed straight for the shower. As hot water pulsated over his head, all he could think about was the expression of wonder on her face when she’d climaxed. And all he wanted was to see that again.
He was royally screwed.
The next morning, Jamie rummaged through his kitchen cabinets, finally locating an empty jar, and stuffed seven one-dollar bills into it. One for each curse word he could remember thinking or saying. At the end of his time with Sugar, he would take the jar crammed with money—he didn’t doubt it would be—to the Humane Society and insist it be put toward the adoption of a cat.
That he’d even conceived of such a plan was proof his cock had taken control of his brain. Heaving a big sigh, he dug another dollar out of his wallet and added it to the others. It would probably be a good idea to stock up on singles.
After slipping a chain holding his house key around his neck, he locked his door and doubled his normal five-mile run. Even though he’d taken the edge off in the shower a few hours ago, he was still hot and bothered. The erotic dreams he’d had of a certain violet-eyed woman hadn’t helped.
By the time he returned home, the late-October day had warmed up enough that he was drenched in sweat. A quick shower cooled him down, and he followed it with a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast, two cups of coffee, and a banana. Another hour was taken up with some housekeeping while he half paid attention to CBS’s Sunday Morning show.
One of the segments featured a bestselling erotic romance author and he paused to listen, amazed at the number of books she sold. When the interviewer read aloud a heavily bleeped passage, Jamie realized he’d been right there in that scene, back in the days before he was Saint—before the Great Jamie Makeover. Many times.
As he remade the bed with clean sheets, he contemplated the necessity of maintaining the stringent rules he’d put in place. They had been necessary at the time, the things he needed to do to change the destructive direction in which he was headed. His motivation to be a man his parents would have been proud of had kept him from slipping at a time when he was metaphorically walking on ice. Those days were long past, and maybe it was time to ease up.
He stuffed the pillows into their cases, then sat on the bed. “You’re messing with my head, Sugar,” he muttered. Thinking back on it, he considered it amazing no woman had crossed his path in the last ten years who called to the man he’d once been in the way Sugar did.
And when it did happen, what did he get? A wounded bird who turned green at the sight of his erection. Chuckling, he shook his head. Life was full of surprises, and whether this one was a good one or not remained to be seen.
A promise had been made though. Before he was done with her, she would want him. And he always kept his promises. He glanced at the clock to see it was eleven. She should be up. He pulled a lemon drop from his cargo shorts pocket, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth. Grabbing his cell out of the charger, he clicked off the TV and dialed Sugar’s number. That he’d got it from Maria and programmed it into his phone a week ago should have been a warning.
Sugar squinted at the alarm clock, blinked, and looked again. She never slept until eleven. Junior had awakened her at seven and she’d fed him, then crawled back into bed, intending to grab another hour of sleep. But it had been the most restful night she’d had in years. No nightmares, no tossing and turning, no staring at the ceiling fan circling above her while listening for noises that didn’t belong.
“Thank you, Jamie,” she whispered, wishing he hadn’t left. When she’d come back to bed after feeding Junior, she’d pulled the pillow that still held his scent to her face and fallen back to sleep inhaling his smell.
Her phone buzzed, no identity on the caller. She almost answered, but remembered the stranger asking questions and let it go to voicemail. When the beep sounded, signaling a message, she listened, her heart taking a happy bounce when she heard Jamie’s voice.
“It’s Sugar,” she said as he answered her return call.
“You up?”
“Yes,” she lied.
“You have plans for today?”
“No.” She never had plans other than to go to work, come home, feed Junior, surf the Internet for the latest news on bad cop and bad cop, sleep, then go to work again. Saturdays and Sundays were spent doing . . . absolutely nothing. What was there to do when she didn’t have friends, much less a boyfriend?
“Good. I’ll pick you up at two. Wear a bathing suit. A bikini would please me,” he said, using that sexy voice of his.
“Okay.” Holy moly wow! He was actually asking her out. The line went dead. She threw off the covers and shot out of bed. There was just enough time to go to the mall and buy a bikini.
As she returned home with her tiny bathing suit, a gauzy, white cover-up with a giant parrot hand-painted on the back, and a new pair of glittery beach flip-flops, she wondered if she’d gone a little overboard. She glanced at the passenger seat. Oh, and a yellow straw hat with a red ribbon that trailed off the back. Yeah, she’d gone overboard, but what the heck. It wasn’t every day a hot guy called, invited her to the beach, and in a husky voice said a bikini would please him.
When she’d taken on the persona of Sugar, she’d cut and dyed her hair, lost twenty pounds, and adopted a personality completely opposite from Hannah. If she was going to hide from two very bad cops, she had to be someone they’d never think to look for.
It hadn’t helped the night before, though. At the sight of Jamie in all his glory, Hannah had popped out and freaked, big time. Sugar didn’t want to be that girl, the one who didn’t know how to enjoy life . . . or a man.
Sugar wanted to want Jamie, and after the orgasm he’d given her with just his fingers, she held out hope he would prove up to the challenge he’d issued. If tiny bikinis and sparkly sandals excited him, then it was money well spent. If it made her a little sad that whatever happened betwee
n them was a temporary thing and he’d never know the real her, she would just have to deal with it.
I’ll never lie to you. His words echoed in her mind as she painted her toenails cherry red. She pushed Junior away from her wet toes and flopped back on the bed, covering her face with her hands.
“I have no choice but to lie to him, Junior, but if he ever finds out, he’ll hate me for it. I don’t want him to hate me, but I really, really do want him to make good on his promise.”
“Mowwl.”
“That’s easy for you to say; you’re neutered.” His face pressed against her hands and she moved them so he could smash his nose on hers. After giving her a sandpapery lick, he curled into a ball on her pillow and went to sleep.
“Big help you are,” she said. Jamie would knock on her door in thirty minutes, and to calm her nerves, she made a cup of chamomile tea and carried it into the bathroom where she’d left the bathing suit. She jumped into the shower and shaved her legs, under her arms, and for the first time in her life, gave herself a bikini trim.
“You’re just having yourself all kinds of adventures today, Sugar.” After putting on the bathing suit, she held a mirror between her legs to make sure she’d done adequately on her shave job. No hairs peeked out of the crotch, so she was good to go.
Lord, the thing was small, she thought as she turned in a circle in front of the mirror. The bathing suit hadn’t looked this tiny at the store. No way could she go out in public wearing only two strips of material. Somewhere, she had a one-piece. The doorbell rang just as she yanked open the drawer she thought the suit was in. Crap!
Okay, so she would just put the parrot cover-up on and not take it off. Not even for Jamie. Probably. She snagged the straw hat and the tote she’d filled with some bottled waters, the two new beach towels—men didn’t own beach towels, did they?—she’d also bought, then jogged to the front door, practically out of breath by the time she opened it. What was left of the air in her lungs expelled at the sight of Jamie standing there, wearing a blue T-shirt that matched his eyes and a pair of boardshorts that stopped a few inches above his knees. Good God, look at those legs.
“Hey, you,” she said, managing not to drool.
“Hey you back.”
The way his gaze roamed over her, slowly perusing the line of her body all the way down to her toes, his eyes promising more of the kind of pleasure he’d already shown her, short-circuited her brain. She gave into the urge to squeeze her thighs together. A knowing smile crossed his face as he leaned toward her. Thinking he was going to kiss her, she closed her eyes. He chuckled and she felt his breath at the side of her neck. What was he doing?
“You smell nice,” he said, then took her hand.
As she walked beside him to the car—Jamie’s large hand curled around hers—it struck her how intimate the act was. She’d been too closely watched as a teen to even consider having a boyfriend, had never held hands with a man before. Whenever she’d walked beside Rodney, his hand was always at her neck, his fingers digging into her skin, a constant reminder that she belonged to him.
When they reached the car, Jamie backed her up against the passenger door, braced his arms on either side of her head, and lowered his mouth to hers. All morning she’d found herself touching her lips and wondering if she’d only imagined how great he kissed. She hadn’t.
“Mmm. Nice,” he murmured, then stepped back. “I’ve been wanting to do that since I tiptoed out of your bedroom last night.”
“Really?” God, she sounded so juvenile. Why couldn’t she think of something sophisticated to say?
“Yes, Sugar, really. If you’ll move that beautiful ass of yours, I’ll open the door.”
“You just said ass,” she blurted. Stop talking, Sugar, until you have something intelligent to say.
“Your fault, sweetheart. Entirely your fault.”
From his grin, she knew he was teasing her, and that in itself was a novelty. She liked it, but he was still a mystery to her, this man his friends called Saint. Like the hard rock music blaring out of the radio. She would’ve guessed he’d go for oldies, maybe country.
She did want him to kiss her and hold her hand again, and . . . and do that magical thing he’d done with his fingers the night before. It still astounded her she’d had her first orgasm, something she’d accepted would never happen for her.
“A penny,” he said and turned down the radio.
Caught at her thoughts, fire lit her cheeks, and she knew they’d turned bright red. “Ahem, I wasn’t really thinking anything, just listening to the music.”
“Little liar.” He took her hand and put it on his thigh. “You were thinking about last night. At least, I hope you were.”
“Some. A little. Maybe.” His leg muscle flexed under her palm, as if he were pleased with her answer. Unable to help herself, she circled her fingers over the material of his shorts, wishing she had the nerve to move her hand to his bare skin.
After crossing the bridge to Gulf Breeze, he turned onto a narrow lane leading to a marina on the bayside of the island. “I thought we were going to the beach.” She’d never been on a boat in her life, and wasn’t sure she wanted to be on one with him. If she got sick, she’d die of embarrassment, especially after barfing her guts out in front of him the night before.
He pulled into a space in front of the marina office and shifted in his seat to face her. “I have something much better in mind than sitting on the sand, surrounded by hot, sweaty, screaming kids. For what I have planned for us, we need privacy.”
The last was said in such an intimate, compelling voice that she could only nod her assent. Did more privacy mean he would do those things to her again?
“I’m on board.” She helplessly snorted. Really, Sugar. On board? Already, she was boat-talking. His lips curved into an amused smile, as if he knew her every thought. God forbid.
“Just remember, on a boat, the captain’s the boss. Whatever he says goes.” He got out of the car and came to her side, opened the door and leaned in. “The first mate’s job description is to obey the captain, no questions or arguments. Got that?”
Sugar barely refrained from saluting. “Aye, aye, captain.”
“That’s my girl,” he said with a pleased, downright sexy grin.
That’s my girl. She was in deep shit, falling for a man who would never love her back. But what the hell! As long as he wanted her, she was his. She ignored how pathetic that sounded.
Well, she would be his for as long as he wanted her unless she had to run.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Jamie backed the twenty-three-foot Sea Ray away from the dock. Sugar sat on the padded seat next to him, her arms wrapped tightly around her own waist. He loved his boat and wanted her to love it, too. Why that mattered, he chose not to think about.
By the color of her face, however, he thought she was only minutes from hanging her head over the side. It hadn’t occurred to him to ask if she was prone to seasickness, but they were only a few yards from the marina, the water as smooth as glass.
To divert her attention, he slipped his arm around her and pulled her onto his lap. “You steer.”
“Shit, no.”
She tried to scramble away, but he held on to her. “Easy, sweetheart. Just put your hands here.” He brought up her unwilling hands and wrapped her fingers around the wheel. Her knuckles turned white. “I won’t let you run into anything.”
An annoyed breath huffed from her. “Shows what you know. If there’s anything within a hundred miles I shouldn’t run into, you probably won’t be able to stop me. Have you already forgotten the beer truck near miss?”
“I remember. Gave me nightmares.” Jamie pressed his mouth to the side of her neck and grinned, although the reminder should probably have had him quaking in his flip-flops and in fear for the life of his boat. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she liked h
aving control. Already, her fingers were turning back to a healthy pink, and the green was fading from her cheeks.
As she darted alert glances left and right, he eased up the throttle, giving her a little more speed. Minutes later, she gave a delighted laugh as they bounced over the small waves coming in from the inlet.
“Where am I supposed to be going?” she called over the roar of the motors.
“Straight ahead.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, liking the feel of her against his body.
She peered back at him, her eyes as wide as saucers. “In the ocean?”
“You a scaredy cat?” Unless he missed his guess, the woman wouldn’t refuse a dare.
Her lips thinned into a determined line. “Hell, no.”
It took every bit of his control not to laugh when she tossed her straw hat aside, stood, and practically pressed her nose to the windshield. Any desire to laugh died at the sight of her eye-level bikini-clad bottom clearly visible through the gauzy cover-up. Unfortunately, the parrot painted on the back blocked out the enticing parts of her. Figuring more speed would keep her focused on her driving, he moved the throttle forward some more.
“Just keep going in the direction you are. You want to keep inside the red and green buoys.” He’d checked the weather before inviting her, and knew there’d only be slight swells on the gulf.
“Piece of cake,” she said, and he heard the excitement in her voice. “I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.”
Her steady stream of self-encouragement brought a grin to his face. “What are you, the little choo-choo that can?”
Laughter flowed from her. “Yep, that’s me.”
Giving in to the need to touch her, he placed his hands at her knees, then trailed his fingers up her legs, his thumbs stroking the soft flesh of the inside of her thighs. He slipped under the cover-up, and when he reached that lovely ass in front of his face, her rounded cheeks rippled as the pads of his fingers danced over her skin. So, she liked that.
